


Hello

by Reality 2_0 (reality_2_0)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reality_2_0/pseuds/Reality%202_0
Summary: set 2011/12; He had never regretted being late this much.





	Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RomanceIsNotDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanceIsNotDead/gifts).



> Thanks to 2.1 for hunting down my mistakes.

He was late.

Generally, this was nothing new. His (bad) habit of hardly ever being punctual to anything was the topic of many a joke since decades now. Normally, it didn’t faze him at all. Today, though, he was angry about the delay caused by a phone conference running longer and an accident that resulted in a massive traffic jam.

He had planned to spend some much needed and anticipated quality time with his wife this evening, had intended to be home early to prepare it, and now, she very likely arrived before him.

Sitting alone in the back of the van, he drummed a random rhythm on the upholstery with his fingertips, annoyed that his plans had been shot to hell, that he was stuck.

Suddenly, his phone rang, the number proving his assumption about her arrival.

“Welcome home, darling,” he answered the call.

“I wish I could say the same,” came the reply from the other end. She didn’t sound mad or annoyed, rather sad and disappointed.

“I’m stuck in traffic. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, because I miss you and really want you to be here right now.” With the second part of the sentence, her voice gained a breathless quality that he picked up on instantly.

“Where _exactly_ are you?” he inquired.

“Our bedroom.”

He swallowed, having a good idea where this was leading. It wouldn’t be the first time she punished him like this, but he had to make sure. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Now, that depends on your definition of ‘unwell’, but I am a little tense.”

That confirmed it. “Give me about an hour, and I promise you a massage.”

“While that sounds tempting, I’m not sure I can wait another hour…” As she trailed off, he heard a low buzzing sound start in the background.

He groaned, grateful to be alone, to have some privacy even though it was more an illusion of one with the agents occupying the front seats.

“Darling,” he started, drawing out the vowels.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she replied sarcastically sweet.

He sighed, surrendered to the game, although he knew he would regret it, would end up feeling frustrated, longing. “What are you wearing?”

“The dark blue nightgown.” She didn’t need to say more. He knew exactly which piece she was referring to. Nightgown was a generous term to describe this rather short and sheer negligee of expensive lace and soft silk. She had surprised him with it at their last anniversary, and ever since, it was a favorite of his.

Damn that conference! Damn the traffic!

“What else?”

“A smile?” she teased. “Well, not quite yet, but we’re getting there.”

The buzzing got louder, and she moaned softly.

His own body started to respond to her. “What would I see if I were to enter the room now?”

She took a deep breath. “The blinds are drawn. The lamp on your side of the bed is on, but dimmed. There are a few candles and tea lights scattered around the room to provide additional illumination.”

As she could still form multisyllabic words, she had really only just started.

“The bed’s turned down. I’m lying on your side, legs spread, hungering for your touch.”

He bit his lower lip to prevent a loud groan from escaping. She was killing him, but he had asked for it. Kind of.

“What’s where I want to be?” They had a small, but good, reliable collection of toys to add to the fun or help bridging an involuntary drought.

“The purple one.”

Great. Now he was jealous of a vibrator.

“I wish it was you,” she added.

“Me, too. Me, too.” He sighed.

“But until you get here, it’ll have to do. Tell me about your day,” she requested.

He knew she wasn’t all that interested in his day right now, that she just wanted to hear his voice, and that it didn’t matter what he was saying as long as he was talking. He could have read her the phone book for all she cared. She longed for him, and his voice in her ear was the most she could get of him at the moment. A poor substitute, but she would obviously take it, would rather have his company in her mind than not have him at all.

He obliged, began a detailed account of the day’s events, mindful of keeping his voice at a level he knew she particularly loved and evenly modulated while the soft sounds coming from the other end of the line increased.

Part of him longed to know what she was doing exactly to provide the pleasure that elicited those sounds from her, but he knew better than to ask. One time he had done so in the past and had learned his lesson for all time when she had answered his question in so many details that he could picture it all too clearly in his mind, which with the involuntary aid of his traitorous hand, had made him come in his pants. He had no intention of repeating that mistake now. Her noises alone drove him crazy enough, he didn’t need to add mental images.

He adjusted his pants, then consciously put his hand back next to his legs on the seat before it could develop a mind of its own.

Her responses to his tale became less frequent and increasingly less coherent but more and more interrupted by moans, whimpers and heavy breaths – a clear indicator that she was getting close to climaxing.

He knew these sounds like the back of his hand, had evoked them countless times during the last forty-plus years of their relationship, knew every nuance, knew what they translated into. He had taken his time studying and memorizing them.

She had held back at the beginning, but it hadn’t taken all that much encouragement from him for her to let loose completely. He loved a vocal lover, and had been overjoyed to find that the woman who completed him in life and love also did so in lust. It had been a dream come true, still was.

To spur her on, he moved the topic of his narrative from his day to how much he wished he was home with his beloved wife so he could love her the way she deserved and desired to be loved.

Eventually, he heard the tale-telling sounds of release washing over her.

Quietly, he continued talking until she calmed down, and the buzzing of the vibrator ceased.

“How hard are you?” she asked.

He growled. “Very.”

“Hurry home. I promise to meet you at the door.”

His mind flashed back to previous times they had… met… at a door, and judging by her tone, he could tell that his memories probably weren’t far off.

“Have mercy,” he begged.

She chuckled. “Just for now because I want you. Badly.”

“I can’t wait.” He eyed the passing world. “We’re about half an hour out by now. I’ll see you soon.”

“Are you hanging up on me?”

He could hear her pout. “I can’t take much more, darling,” he admitted defeat. “It won’t be long.”

With a sigh, she relented. “See you soon then, honey,” she said. “All of you.” Then she ended the call.

He groaned. Half an hour. Thirty minutes until he could pull her into his arms, kiss her, touch her skin, make her pay for what she had done to him. Thirty minutes until she would surely devour him.

It would be the longest thirty minutes of his life.

The End.


End file.
